


it is because you have loved me

by alderbest



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Future Fic, So much angst, author needs anti-pretentiousness medication, gwen being beautiful and powerful and queenly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:09:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1954647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alderbest/pseuds/alderbest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Queen Guinevere is the best ruler Camelot has ever seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it is because you have loved me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tiny drabble I did after rewatching Diamond of the Day for the first time (I literally could not bring myself to do so for approximately two years after it aired) because my love for Guinevere is huge and SHE NEVER GOT ANY CLOSURE. I'm pretty unhappy with how this turned out but I'm posting it anyway because it is the only thing in my drafts that even RESEMBLES a finished work, so just excuse the weird prose and awkward style and pretend you're reading something good.
> 
> Title is snatched from E. E. Cummings' "If I Believe", which is so stunning I cried.

Queen Guinevere is the best ruler Camelot has ever seen. 

Her first act as queen is to repeal the ban on magic, and her first act as a widow is to curl up in her wedding bed and cry until she can’t breathe, can’t feel anything except her own blood, pounding in her ears. She curls her clever fingers into the bedclothes, the fine silk woven through with gold thread, and shakes. And shakes and shakes and shakes.

Arthur’s likeness had been carved into stone in the week before the Battle of Camlann. Gwen had asked not to see it—still does not want to see it. But she must, so she does.

The craftsmanship is exquisite. Gwen’s clever fingers trace the strong jaw and beautiful lips, and her heart breaks a little more because the stone is cold, cold, cold to the touch. 

The tomb itself is empty, of course. The hilt of a newly-forged sword rests under the large stone hands, thin and fashioned from iron, entirely impersonal, and Gwen knows swords better than most and she can admire the precision and care that has gone into forging the blade, can respect the smooth, even lines and beautifully carved hilt. But it is exactly the same as the sword that lays on his father’s tomb, and his grandfather’s. 

Gwen aches for Excalibur. Even this cold, stone Arthur deserves something that is entirely his own, totally unique. 

She lays a clever hand on his smooth cheek, presses a swift kiss to his smooth lips.

xx

All the Saxons that survived Camlann (of which there are shockingly few; thanks, Gwen supposes, to Merlin) are locked up in Camelot’s dungeons.

“It’s up to you to decide their fate, Your Majesty,” says Sir Pellinore at her first Council as queen, hands folded neatly on the table in front of him. Sir Gwaine’s empty seat is glaringly obvious to his left. Gwen looks at it as she says:

“They swear allegiance to Camelot—to me—or they are hanged.”

All but six of the thirty-four men swear allegiance to Guinevere. Those six executions are the only hangings Camelot sees for years afterwards. Queen Guinevere stands by her decision and her people stand by her. The Citadel is crowded the morning of the executions, and the queen watches her subjects, standing tall and beautiful and strong as the men are led to the gallows, and feels no guilt when the trapdoors fall open and the ropes tighten and they swing there like grotesque marionettes, heads bowed and feet dangling. 

xx

She is known throughout the five kingdoms as Guinevere the Noble, and the irony of this does not escape her.

xx

When Merlin returns the first time it has been almost a year since Camlann, and Gaius is ill. Merlin looks haggard, thin, his skin stretching tight over the sharp planes of his face. His customary bright tunic and neckerchief have been replaced by a tunic of undyed wool and a long, dirty brown cloak, and Gwen thinks his body seems coiled tight, pulled taut like the strings of a harp as he kneels before her and bows his head. 

“Rise,” she says, quietly, and he does, on coltish legs, taller than she remembers. His eyes are shadowed and she fancies she can see the power in them, and the pain. “I know what you are.” She tells him, seated on the throne, and he nods. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice rough with disuse.

“I understand why you kept it hidden,” Guinevere says, hesitant, because she loved him once and she thinks she loves him still, but things have changed now. She can’t be sure. 

“No, I.” He draws in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save him. I tried. I was too late, and Morgana—I was too late. I tried.”

“I know.”

They embrace. He trembles in her arms. 

He leaves again when Gaius passes, still in that dirty brown cloak. Gwen thinks it might once have been red. 

xx

Merlin returns twice more in Gwen’s lifetime. The last time he is by her bed when she wakes, old and dying, looking as young as the day he arrived in Camelot. He holds her hand, kisses it softly as she dies.

xx

When she is approaching five-and-thirty, whispers begin to fly around court about the absence of a king by her side. Guinevere has never considered marrying again, and it is the last thing on her mind; she thinks has more important things to do than be courted by prospective husbands. She has a kingdom to rule. 

“Have you never thought—you know.” Aud, her lady’s maid, says one morning as she tackles the queen’s wild hair into an elaborate braid. 

“Aud,” Gwen says, not unkindly, “you will have to be more specific than that.”

“Of course, milady,” says Aud, and then, in a rush: “Just—have you never thought about marrying again? Only you’re still such a beautiful woman, milady, and I hate to think of you growing old alone.”

“No, Aud,” Gwen says softly, rising from her seat and smoothing down her skirt. “I cannot say I’ve considered it.”

“Apologies if I overstepped, milady,” Aud bows her young head, deferential. She is a plain girl, short and stocky and capable.

“Not at all, Aud,” Gwen smiles kindly. “It’s quite all right.”

xx

Later that month, the court genealogist approaches her with a list of suitors, and she tells him she has no intention to take a second husband.

“If I may, my lady,” Geoffrey says, lowering his voice, “it may be prudent to reconsider. The people of Albion admire and adore you, but they need to respect you. And—well, growing old as a widow may not be the best course of action. Respectfully. My lady. That is—the people need to feel safe, and. Well, to be perfectly honest, I’m not sure they will with an unmarried woman ruling their land. You understand, I’m sure. My lady.”

“I understand perfectly, Goeffrey,” Gwen says, a distinct edge to her voice. “But Albion does not need a king to protect its people. I assure you it is perfectly within my capability to do so on my own, despite my feminine sensibilities.”

Geoffrey has always disapproved of Arthur’s marriage to Gwen, she knows that. She also knows that he has always been rather afraid of women. He has the decency now to look chagrined, but he continues nonetheless, “Incidentally, it has proved unwise in the past to trust women with power. The people will not forget that.”

“Incidentally, I am not, in fact, Morgana,” Gwen says coldly, turning back to the report in front of her. “And I think you will find—incidentally—that many of the people already have. Perhaps you would consider presenting this list to Queen Annis, of Caerleon?”

“My lady, I did not intend—”

“That will be all, Geoffrey. Leave me.”

Gwen does not look up as he leaves the chamber, rubbing her thumb over the royal seal carved into Arthur’s ring.

xx

Her hair loses its colour. Age etches its tracks into her skin. Her hands lose their cleverness. Still, she rules, and Albion prospers. 

xx

The songs preserve her legend, and the people say she is stardust, now, old and forever, and, occasionally, paying visits to earth.


End file.
